mutterings

On the heels of another drunkard story and videoke machines I find myself keeling at the sight of an overview. Nothing ends, not even the random musings of a confessed stalker and the flickering lights of a piano bar. There, you watch a chartreux cat walking across a moonlit neon floor and singing a painful mew; but she does not mind you, she won't care even if you stare at her for all eternity. She only demands your payment for temporary release. The last song plays on, but the people never and would not want to leave. After all, their escape is through only a small peep-hole from which you could only pay-per-view.